


Expose

by mayalinified



Series: All Night [4]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Chance Meetings, Dancing, Frottage, M/M, Prostitute Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 16:24:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1717043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayalinified/pseuds/mayalinified
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s like time stops and everything goes silent. He doesn’t move. Bucky doesn’t move. It’s almost like a movie where the two romantic leads catch sight of each other and suddenly they’re two people in the world. This isn’t romantic. Not even remotely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Expose

**Author's Note:**

> Back with another addition! Thank you guys for all the positive feedback. I'm amazed by how this crack, meant-to-be-a-one-shot idea turned into something people actually like.
> 
> I started a tag (All Night Series) for this where I'll post updates and snippets as I go along. Feel free to check it out and as always you can find me at infinitygauntlets.tumblr.com!
> 
> Now complete with a playlist!!!
> 
> http://8tracks.com/mayalinification/all-night-a-playlist

So Sam convinces him to go out. It’s a monumentally stupid idea for two very distinct reasons:

The first being that he  _didn’t_  need the “chance to meet some hot fellas” that Sam was so adamant about him having.

The second was that he had the dance ability of a white dad at a wedding.

And so yeah, ok, Steve lives in a predominantly gay neighborhood that has the best nightlife in the area, it's not like he doesn't go out. When he does it's to bars with a relaxed atmosphere and low intensity lights and actual food on the menu.

But his apartment is two blocks north of this gay club that plays loud house music and serves their shots in test tubes and somehow everyone is always coming out of it covered in paint.

Sam chooses that club.

It’s called Expose.

He’s fairly ill-tempered when Sam finally gets him out of the nice little brownstone heaven he calls home and into the street in quite possibly, the tightest pair of pants he’s ever worn. His outfit was chosen for him, because god forbid he ever wear something like this. It’s a crisp white v-neck that’s about four sizes to small and near black jeans that make him feel like he’s going to lose circulation.

“You look good,” Sam comments with a triumphant little smile. Steve ignores him.

There’s already a line that’s decently long when they arrive at the club. Sam walks straight to the front and literally says the phrase “I’m on the list". 

Red ropes block off their booth from everyone else and a bouncer stands guard beside it. They’re on a platform of sorts, looking over the sea of people that make up the dance floor. Blacklights make everything glow and there’s a neon theme that Steve wasn’t notified about. The music is that thumpy rave music that is only  _really_  good when you’re high. Not that Steve knows that feeling.

“I can’t believe you got us into VIP,” Steve says, more annoyed than impressed. He feels so distinctly out of place that people are starting to look at him. Stare at him. Wink at him?

Sam lifts his glass that has these stupid LED flashing ice cubes in them. “Don’t forget about the bottle service.”

Yeah he can’t forget about that. “How’d you even afford this?”

“EMT guys have connections. One of them owed me a favor.”

Steve scowls, “How is it you and Nat are always cashing in favors and I’m not?”

Sam pinches his cheek, “Cause you’re too good to make somebody owe you for something.”

They end up getting down to half the bottle of vodka Sam ordered within an hour of being there. The club starts to get even wilder, as if it were possible, and Steve’s _considering_ dancing.

“You can’t be that bad, Steve,” Sam reasons. But oh god, yes, Steve can. He shakes his head.

“Sam I’m gonna embarrass the hell out of you. You’ll disown me. I’m dead serious,” he takes another big gulp of his drink and one of the flashing cubes hits him in the teeth.

“Alright well I’m going,” Sam says standing. “And if you don’t drink another glass of liquid courage and get your ass down to where I’m at I’ll come up and drag you.” He stops before leaving and turns around.

“You’re going to have fun, Rogers. Whether you like it or not.”

Steve ends up people watching while he has his last drink. There’s a banister that he can lean on and look down at the floor, while the heads of the people bob at his knee level. He can see Sam, dancing with some blonde guy about his height, but built like a linebacker and in all likelihood probably is one. For college or for high school, the answer is unclear.

Everyone looks a lot younger than him, which is disconcerting considering he’s only twenty-five. He wonders if perhaps he’s just hyper-aware of age since he was well…actually concerned with it. Almost everyone in the crowd is good looking, some better described as “waifish” and even more directly described as “Steve’s type”. He catches eyes from a few; a blonde, an Italian looking brunette, an Asian guy who Steve spends an extra second or two looking at. But none of them convince him to come down to the floor.

That’s when he catches sight of Bucky.

He almost doesn’t recognize him under the blacklight. But it's undeniably him. Though there’s something different about the way he looks, and it’s not just the ordinary look of his clothes – different from the nicer ones he’d been in before. Steve can’t place what it is, but he keeps watching him. He’s dancing with a group of friends who make him laugh until he’s hunched over, pausing from dancing because whatever it is just _too_ funny.

And that’s when Bucky sees Steve.

It’s like time stops and everything goes silent. He doesn’t move. Bucky doesn’t move. It’s almost like a movie where the two romantic leads catch sight of each other and suddenly they’re the only two people in the world. This isn’t romantic. Not even remotely.

Bucky looks away from Steve when he’s pulled back to dancing by one of the boys he’s with. Steve watches him, move and shake his ass around while the music pounds. There’s sweat glistening on his chest where his shirt is open and he’s pulling at his own clothes, running his fingers through his own hair.

He’s teasing him.

His eyes keep coming back to Steve. Looking at him and smirking.

The last time they’d seen one another was before they fell asleep in the hotel. Then Bucky left and took Steve's money before he'd woken up like it was nothing. And it _was_ nothing. It was meant to be nothing. Steve disputes with himself; maybe Bucky wants to talk to him? Or maybe he doesn’t want to have him intersect with his personal life and he’s content to just eye fuck him from across the room all night.

Steve’s positive if it’s the latter he’s going to lose his mind. _We’re just gonna talk_ , he tells himself, before walking down the steps out of VIP.

There are too many bodies in the way between Steve and Bucky and people won’t move out of his way. Instead they grab at him or gawk at him until he’s resorted to slithering through the crowd trying to avoid outstretched hands.

He recognizes Bucky’s dark hair, the expanse of his shoulders and hips, as he approaches him from behind.

“Bucky,” he tries to start and Bucky whips around to face him, grinning bright.

He’s not quite sure how it happens, but Bucky ends up in front of him, chest to chest with his hands on Steve’s hips. Bucky moves them, shoving Steve into a dance he’s reluctant to partake in, but allowing it to happen all the same. He wants to talk, he wants to ask why he didn’t even wake him up to say goodbye.

But all of that seems so stupid to say. And he’s a little drunk and a lot more turned on than he expects to be when Bucky just grabs him like that.

Like he wants him.

His body is hot under Steve’s hands, slick, even through the bright blue t-shirt he wears. It’s familiar to feel over his sides and the muscles that shift on his back as he moves. His eyes are downwards and Steve’s follow, letting his forehead rest on the top of Bucky’s head. Their hips move next to each other, until Bucky presses into his space beyond what he’s prepared for.

The line of Bucky’s cock through his jeans is impossible to ignore as it presses against Steve’s hipbone. The palm that Steve moves over his spine immediately goes to his lower back. He wants Bucky closer. He can’t even remember why he came over in the first place.

Finally Bucky looks up, “What are you doing here?”

Steve’s mouth is so dry that his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth when he tries to speak. “I came with a friend.”

Bucky’s hands depart from Steve’s hips, retreating upwards and over his stomach and chest. The shirt is so tight and Steve can see the way he’s looking at it, like he wants it off. Maybe Bucky is drunk or maybe he’s high? A thought lingers in Steve’s mind that Bucky really shouldn’t be acting like this with him in public. That this is strange and he should question it more, but he doesn’t.

“You’re not with a…client are you?” he asks and immediately regrets. His eyes scan the group of guys who now are watching Bucky. None of them look old enough to be the type that Steve has started to imagine for Bucky’s usual clientele.

Thank god Bucky ends up laughing. His hands glide up to Steve’s shoulders and he smirks up at him. “Y’know. Consider me off the clock.”

He spins around in Steve’s arms and backs up into him. His hand comes up to hook around the back of Steve’s neck and when the beat of the song tapers off into silence and then slides back into life again, Bucky grinds his ass back against Steve’s cock. Before Steve can stop himself he wraps an arm around Bucky’s middle and moans hot against his ear.

“Buck…” he grits out, suddenly aware of the group watching them. Bucky’s friends. All of them gaping at the way they dance together. “People can see us.”

That doesn’t stop him from grinding up again, making Steve’s mouth fall open. He can feel the rise and fall of Bucky’s stomach, rapid and deep with heaving breaths. He can feel the way his muscles tighten up when he laughs.

Bucky turns his head slightly and his lips brush Steve’s jaw. “Let them look.”

The song is slower than the rest, but the bass fills Steve’s chest up until he can’t breathe in anything else but the song. Bucky rolls his body in time with it, dragging himself over Steve through his pants, pushing his ass back into him, like he wants it. Like he needs it.

Steve’s hands run over his chest and hips possessively. He presses fingers into flesh every time Bucky gets the right angle to make his dick harder than he ever wanted it to be on a crowded dance floor. Eventually, he can pick of the rhythm that Bucky sets, and his hips press up when Bucky’s press back until he’s moaning against Bucky’s ear.

And Bucky hands travel, too. They pull at Steve’s hair and they reach back to guide his hips. Steve could be fucking him. He’s so close to it.

The heat in his cheeks rises until it makes him dizzy. The flashing lights start up again when the music transitions into another song and he feels like he’s going blind. People shift and move like a film reel in front of him and around him. He closes his eyes, trying to block it out and only feel. Only feel how _goddamn good_ it felt to have Bucky push his ass back against him, begging for him without saying a thing.

Steve can’t fucking take it anymore.

“I wanna fuck you,” he says, mouth pressed right against Bucky’s ear. He doesn’t know what Bucky’s face looks like, but he knows he’s grinning. He can hear it on his voice.

“Yeah?” There’s something else there, too. He sounds desperate. “Want you to fuck me, too.”

 They’ve stopped dancing, but Steve’s still holding him tight against his body like Bucky belongs to him. And Bucky’s back is arched so he can still feel the hardness of Steve’s cock through their jeans.

“My house,” Steve offers. “My house is two blocks away. Don’t wanna fuck you in some bathroom or fucking alleyway.” He’s tipsy and loose and hazy and Bucky feels like the only place he wants to be. His mouth drags over the back of Bucky’s neck, lips moving to the tip of his ear on the other side. “Want you in my bed. Want you to let me fuck you.”

He can feel Bucky trembling under his arms and it makes something in the root of his stomach stir up. He wishes he could see Bucky’s face, see his eyes and mouth and cheeks while he shook all over.

“Take me…take me home,” he says to Steve, turning his head again so he can get his eyes on him. They're big and wide and his cheeks are red. “Right now. Take me home. Right. Now.”

As if Steve needed to be asked twice.

Neither of them say anything to the people they came with before they exit the club. Steve pulls out his phone, shooting a quick text to Sam.

_Sent 12:47 AM: Went home. Explain later._

Bucky has his phone out too and he imagines he’s doing the same. The walk back to his apartment is completely silent and neither of them move to touch one another. Steve’s looking at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. And when Bucky finally looks back, Steve can see his jaw flex, his tongue dart out to wet his lips.

He’s never opened his door quicker or more efficiently. There’s also a perk, he realizes, to living on the ground floor. If he had to waste the time walking up the stairs he would have just started fucking Bucky on them.

Now he has Bucky inside and pressed up against the door, wrists pinned up against his head. Steve doesn’t feel like himself, it's never been this intense with somebody before. It feels like a chasm opened up in the pit of his stomach, but now he can’t really think about what it means as much as he’s thinking about filling it.

Bucky whimpers into his mouth, hips pressing up almost involuntarily. It makes Steve’s head swim. He worships at Bucky’s neck, at his jaw, kissing and nipping until he gets Bucky shaking for him again. They rut against one another and Steve’s losing it. He’s absolutely losing it.

“Need lube,” he mumbles, mouth drifting up to Bucky’s earlobe. “Stay here…I’ll go.”

The way he can see Bucky’s adam’s apple bob under his skin is just as good as a “yes”.

He fumbles around in his bedroom, not wasting the time to turn on the light. He snatches lube, a condom, shuffles out of his shoes and socks, and considering deeply whether he wants to get out of these stupid, tight clothes now or give the chance to Bucky.

He steps back out into the living room and Bucky isn’t there.

Something withers in him, and then boils until his cheeks sting red. If Bucky left. If Bucky actually left he…

When he gets around the corner he doesn’t see anything else but skin. Skin and Bucky’s legs. Skin and Bucky bent over his dining room table with his clothes off and shed like bread crumbs in a trail to him. He’s leaning on his elbows, back arched, and leisurely he glances back over his shoulder at Steve and smirks.

Steve’s mouth is completely dry and he relies entirely on his legs mindlessly carrying him forward. He settles behind Bucky setting the condom on the table beside him. That free hand comes back up, presses palm-flat at the base of his neck to trickle down his spine. Bucky shifts at that, arching away from it so his ass perks up even more.

Bucky’s tight and he’s squirming and clawing at the table once Steve starts to scissor his fingers. He’s moaning and they sound so much like sobs Steve moves to rest his forehead between Bucky’s shoulder blades hoping it’ll comfort him somehow.

“Feels so good, Steve.” He hears Bucky mumble it between gasps. “Feels so fucking good. Fuck.”

Steve pants, reaching down with his free hand to get his zipper down, shove his pants out of the way.

“You want me, Buck?” he prints on the back of Bucky’s neck with spit slick lips.

He’s got the condom on, head of his dick right up against Bucky. He waits. He doesn’t know where he gets the self-control, but he waits for Bucky to say it. Instead he grinds, ruts against him with thick pants tickling at the back of Bucky’s ear. “Do you want me?”

“Y-yeah” he gets, finally. “Goddammit, Steve, _please_.”

Feeling how hot Bucky is around him gets a fever sparked in Steve’s blood. He mouths at his neck, reaching up with one hand to catch Bucky’s chin and tip his head that way. He’s thrusting slow and kissing him. Kissing his open mouth as he moans unabashed against Steve’s lips.

Steve can’t say anything else but his name. He can’t even get a decent moan out when he feels Bucky tighten his muscles around him because it just comes out as "Buck". He reaches down and holds his hips in place so he can move faster and faster and harder until the table shifts forward under the force of his thrusts. Bucky doesn’t make a sound until Steve slams his hips harder than he had been, and it practically pushes the cry out of his mouth and into the silent air.

Bucky is panting and Steve is panting and that’s the only sound in the apartment when Steve goes back to the slow rhythm he’d started with. Bucky mutters under his breath, “Tease. Don't stop doing that.”

Steve laughs breathlessly, mouth against his sweat damp hair. “That takes a lotta effort. Need…need a breather.” He should have known really, not to ask for a breather from Bucky after his previous experiences.

He gets Steve shoved back and off of him, until he can get him kissing and stumbling into his bedroom. He doesn’t protest when he’s pushed back on to the bed, stripped of his clothes, legs still dangling off the end. Bucky smirks and climbs on top of him. He looks predatory and it gets Steve’s heart beating faster as if it was capable of going any faster than it had been.

Not seeing Bucky’s face this whole time was a fucking travesty, because now Steve can’t imagine wanting to see anything else in his life. He’s bouncing on Steve's dick with his mouth open and caught around a half smile. Like this is his favorite thing in the world.

Steve touches Bucky all over, feeling the muscle and sweat and heat that make up Bucky's skin. He rolls his thumb over his nipples to make him shudder. He watches Bucky’s eyes as they reflect back half lidded and bright blue even in the dark of the room. It’s so fucking perfect. He’s so fucking perfect. And that’s all Steve can think.

Bucky has stamina, not faltering once in the rapid shift of his hips, only going faster every time Steve’s moans got deeper. He can see the way Bucky responds to him and it makes him feel that possessiveness again. He was the only one who shared this with Bucky, he was the only one who Bucky could understand so well that even the smallest tell ended with the perfect reaction. He wants Bucky to be his and it's so different than controlling him or dominating him. He wants that loyalty, he wants Bucky fucking him like this every night and not even thinking about who else is out there to shove a cock into his mouth for money.

Steve’s getting so _fucking_ close and he’s torn between making it last and letting go. He reaches out, stroking Bucky’s dick quick and firm so he can watch him come first. Bucky responds to it immediately, throwing his hands back on Steve’s thighs so he can arch his back and hips to take Steve deeper.

He comes with a hoarse cry and his muscles tighten up involuntarily so he’s hunched over Steve, face just above his. Steve can’t believe the way he looks when he finishes. He's seen it before, but it was never like this. His face doesn’t tense up or contort. It’s just his wet mouth open and his eyelashes resting on his cheeks, until Steve can only kiss him, chaste, and little beyond that. Eventually he leans back again, still panting and muscles still twitching, so he can finish what he started.

They go like that for a while until Steve exhales unevenly, holding Bucky’s hips as he sits up. He kisses him slowly, licking into his mouth and not caring that the mess Bucky made is pressed between their chests. “Put your legs around me.” He says it against Bucky’s lips and Bucky does as he’s told. Steve shifts them back on the bed as if the weight of him in his lap was nothing and starts to guide Bucky down.

But when Bucky starts to lie back Steve stops him. “Get up on your hands, Buck.” And again Bucky does what Steve tells. He props himself up all the way and Steve seizes his hips up off the bed until his weight is on his own hands, in Steve’s hands. Then, slowly, to make sure Bucky understands what he wants, he guides himself back inside by pulling Bucky’s down onto him.

Bucky’s eyes are wide, but he laughs breathlessly, “Jesus, Steve…”

He moves Bucky the way he wants him, letting himself fall into it because Bucky  _wants_ to be moved. There’s no way he can hold off anymore, not like this. Bucky is slammed down onto him, drawing gasps out from Bucky's lungs.

Steve finishes and the air that fills his chest is punched out. He doesn’t even manage to make a noise, or if he does he can’t hear it through the all-consuming underwater feeling he has that dulls everything to silence. He doesn’t protest when Bucky grabs his shoulders and hauls himself up so he can ride Steve out by sitting in his lap.

It takes everything out of him. He clings to Bucky, raggedly breathing until he can process what’s around him, what’s happening, where he is. Bucky laughs and looks down at him as Steve drowsily looks up.

“Need to clean up, Steve. You do, too.” His hand drifts over Steve’s sternum, past the come that remains on his chest.

They stand in the bathroom together, lights finally on, with a wet towel each to clean off. Steve’s looking at him, he’s looking at Steve. They end up laughing again.

“You know as much as I like you being a bottom,” Bucky says first. “You’re a fucking spectacular top.” This gets Steve laughing harder, but it’s still slow and tired.

“Thanks,” he says, looking Bucky up and down. Bucky, in his bathroom, after they fucked, in his bed.

“Were you…are you…” Steve can’t quite find the words. “High or drunk or..?”

Bucky smirks, then looks down at himself as he finishes cleaning off. “Drunk. Decently drunk when I was in the club.” He tosses the towel aside, looks Steve in the eye again. “I was sober by the time we got here. Were _you_ drunk?”

Steve rubs the back of his neck, “Little, but I wasn’t feeling it so much around the same time you stopped feeling it.” He feels sober as hell now. That isn’t a lie. Now he mostly just feels like he’s hallucinating Bucky actually being there.

“You gonna stay?”

He lets that question out and into the open before it gnaws at him anymore.

Bucky smirks a little again, just a flash. “Yeah, I’m fucking exhausted. Any cab I take I’ll fall asleep in.” Steve grins.

They curl up on the bed with Bucky tucked up against Steve. The smell of his hair is the only thing Steve can think about until they fall asleep. His arm is tight around him, because a part of him, jagged and bent and slicing him open, is that desperate for Bucky not to be gone by morning.

And he’s _so_ prepared for him to be gone, that when he blinks his eyes open to the sunlight pouring in through the window, he’s confused to have somebody there. He stirs, leaning up to see Bucky’s face, but Bucky turns and meets his eyes.

“Morning,” he says simply. He smiles and Steve can’t look away.

“Good morning. How long have you been up?” He settles back down at Bucky’s side, who remains on his back, head turning to face Steve.

“I don’t know. Half hour maybe.” Bucky’s eyes go to the wall. Where there are pictures hung and nestled in a bookshelf. Some of his family, friends, guys from work.

“I didn’t know you were a firefighter, Steve.” There’s that familiar smile on his voice and Steve shrugs.

“Yeah,” he says, tracking Bucky’s eyes to the big gold plaque, the etched FDNY maltese cross above his name. He’d won an award for outstanding service last year. “I don’t know what you do outside of this.”

 _“This”_ hangs heavy in the air. Bucky turns back to him and shrugs. “Go to school. Columbia.”

Steve flexes his jaw, but keeps looking Bucky in the eye. “Prestigious. First year?”

Bucky nods. Thank god he nods. Steve grins, but it’s uneasy, “So what you’re eighteen or nineteen?”

Nineteen he could handle. Even eighteen. He could deal with eighteen. They don’t break eye contact and it makes Steve’s stomach lurch to have Bucky hesitate as much as he is. He watches him, as he searches Steve’s eyes.

“My birthday was last month.”

Things start to fall into place. He feels nauseous.

“So…” He doesn’t know what the fuck to say.

“I was seventeen the first two times I saw you, yeah,” Bucky supplies. He doesn’t look like it bothers him at all that he was underage when he’d had sex with Steve the first time. He doesn’t look bothered by the cold hard truth that he had been a prostitute servicing older men even though he was a minor.

“I’m eighteen now, Steve. I was eighteen when I went to the hotel to see you.” There’s a scowl appearing on his face now and Steve recognizes it as the bloom of hurt. Shame.

Steve really doesn’t know what to say.

Bucky bites his lip and nods, “Alright.” He sits up and away from Steve, going to the living room. “I’m just gonna go.”

 _This is so fucked_ _up_.

He scrambles out of bed and grabs a pair of pajama pants off the chair near his bedroom door. He gets them on as he walks, going to where he can hear Bucky putting on his clothes in the dining room.

“Buck, wait.”

“Don’t!” Those bright blue eyes are like ice. “Don’t call me that.”

Steve flinches, “Bucky I’m sorry. That’s a lot to process I just…”

Bucky laughs, bitter and angry as he pulls on his shirt, “Don’t call me that.” He seems to be stuck on the nickname, ignoring whatever else Steve has to say.

He’s fully dressed and staring Steve down. The coffee machine whirs to life in the kitchen, set to a timer to make a cup before Steve gets up for the day.

“I don’t have sex with people for free.”

There’s nothing in his face to indicate what he means. His eyes are still cold, colder than he’d ever seen them be. Steve isn’t sure what to say to him, “If you want…just tell me how much I owe you for the night a-“

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” Bucky says around a huff of a laugh.

He realizes how it sounds. He winces and tries to reach out for him.

“Bucky wait…”

But Bucky is already out of the apartment, slamming the door shut so Steve knows he’s gone.


End file.
